


Attached

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:36:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Lindir requires help, and it just so happens that Erestor could use an outlet.





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**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

On occasion, Erestor likes to enjoy a glass of red wine after his shift, when it’s been a particularly long day and there’s work yet to be done. The letter unrolled across his desk is only half composed, and the words, for once, are long in coming to him. He has to be careful with each one, for he knows how deeply the recipient will read into every line. His quill is dry in one hand, the slender stem of his glass resting in the other. Erestor savours another sip and thinks, once again, if parchment is the way to go about this.

Then a knock sounds against his door, startling from his reverie, and he thinks he’s been robbed of the opportunity entirely. It’s been a century or more since someone last interrupted him at this late an hour. There can only be one culprit. He takes his wine with him when he rises from his desk—he’ll need it.

Despite the confrontation he expects, Erestor opens his door without ceremony. He fixes his expression coolly eye-level, expecting to peer into deep blue. Instead, he has to tilt his chin slightly down to find the round, wide brown eyes of his assistant, peering nervously up at him. 

“Master Erestor,” Lindir greets, before dipping into a courteous bow that’s entirely unnecessary. When he rises, his gaze automatically ducks, and it seems to have trouble meeting Erestor’s again. Lindir plucks fretfully at the sleeve of his silken night robes, and he mumbles beneath his breath, “Might I... ah... that is, if it is not too presumptuous... I had, ah, hoped to... speak with you...”

Once, Erestor might’ve spared a moment of exasperation for Lindir’s sense of propriety and shyness. Having dealt with this for decades, he now only steps aside, gesturing into the room and offering, “Come in.”

“Thank you,” Lindir blurts, before rushing inside and profusely apologizing, “I am terribly sorry for bothering you at this hour—I know it is dreadfully inappropriate, and I really am very sorry—”

“But we both work so hard that there is little other time to talk,” Erestor interrupts. Lindir frowns but nods. He is, perhaps, the only other in Imladris who works as hard as Erestor. Before meeting him, Erestor would’ve thought _no one else_ in Arda could match his tireless dedication to duty. It’s only a pity that Lindir’s fallen into such a routine so young, and it’s clear his social skills have suffered for it. He fidgets in the center of the room, until Erestor guides him over to the bed at the back—the only place where two might sit. As Erestor so rarely entertains company, he’s had no need for more.

Lindir perches gingerly, hesitantly on the very edge of the mattress, and he clasps his hands together in his lap. He licks his plush lips once before admitting, “I... please, forgive me, but I... needed to talk. And you have always been my mentor and... I fear I have no one else to turn to.” With a deep breath, he finally lifts his eyes to Erestor’s and finishes, “I need advice.”

Erestor waits. But no more explanation comes, and he has to push, “On _what_?”

Again, Lindir wavers. His eyes fall to his hands, clasped so tightly that his knuckles seem to tremble. Erestor remains patient, although Lindir’s fidgeting does try him, and eventually, Lindir answers quietly, “I... I have certain... affections... for someone. Someone high above my station.”

Of course, according to Lindir, most are above his station. And he hasn’t yet seen enough of the world to understand that in Imladris, little importance is placed on such things, at least when it comes to matters of the heart. Lindir seems unable to say any more for the time, so Erestor dryly prods him, “I do hope it is not me.”

Lindir’s head shoots up. He looks utterly shocked, as though the very idea would’ve never occurred to him, despite showing up in the middle of the night in such flimsy robes at a superior’s bedchambers. He stutters, “N-no! I would never be so presumptuous, oh, I am sorry—”

“Enough,” Erestor tells him, waving it off and pressing, “Continue.” 

Only Lindir’s cheeks have started to stain, and it seems he can’t go on for the life of him. His mouth works a few times, head hanging. A part of Erestor does find it strangely endearing: that sweet innocence that Lindir so effortlessly exudes. But the rest of Erestor is well aware that he has no business even considering such a delicate specimen; his own proclivities are far beyond Lindir’s scope. He does spare a moment to hope that whoever Lindir does yearn for is one that would respect such innocence. In a way, Lindir being Erestor’s direct underling, the most diligent and worthy of his staff, gives Erestor a certain sense of protectiveness. Lindir is a gentle being, and he must have someone who will hold him so.

In the interim, Erestor offers his glass of wine. He doesn’t suggest any more; he’s never seen Lindir drink, and he doubts Lindir would be the sort to indulge, for he doesn’t seem the sort that would be able to hold his mind against it. Lindir still gratefully takes that sip, cradling the glass between his palms, and hands it back, still lightly shaking. 

Licking the remnants from his lips, Lindir quietly confesses, “I... I wish to serve Lord Elrond.” 

Erestor is silent. In that one swift moment, he evaluates his lord as a prospect for his assistant, contemplates how he could’ve missed so many signs that now seem terribly obvious, and wonders what Lindir has come to _him_ for. When it’s clear Erestor isn’t about to immediately expel Lindir from both his chambers and service, Lindir continues, “In _other_ ways, I mean, although of course I am honoured to attend to him now as I do. I... I only wish I could do _more_ for him. He is such a great lord. A-and of course I do not at all expect him to return my affections! But... he does seem very... lonely... at times. He must have so much pressure on him. And I would do anything I could to soothe that. I would... I would at least like to warm his bed if... if I might...”

He trails off, and Erestor waits for more, then prods, “I wonder, then, what you are doing on _my_ bed.”

Lindir blushes hotly. His pale features are highly susceptible to it, and in a split second, he’s scarlet. He shakes his head sadly and relays, “I have no experience. I do not know how to offer myself. And if I did... I fear I could not please him, though it is my greatest wish to do so.”

Because Erestor knows Lord Elrond well, he feels comfortable evenly answering, “Having a pretty young thing wishing to warm his bed would likely be pleasure enough.”

Lindir’s blush creeps right up to his ears. He bites his bottom lip, only compounding his cuteness.

Then he pushes swiftly from the bed. He stammers, “My apologies again—” and makes to leave, but Erestor grabs his wrist, and with a simple tug, he’s pulled back to the bed. Lindir is weightless and limbless. 

Erestor all but orders him, “Say what you mean, Lindir.”

So Lindir, looking anywhere but Erestor’s eyes, murmurs through a thick haze of self-imposed shame, “I... I came to ask... to plead... for you to mentor me in this.”

It’s as Erestor suspected. Even having deduced it early, there’s a thin layer of surprise beneath, both at the request coming from _Lindir_ , of all people, and directed at _him_. He finds himself muttering with amusement, “You must think me quite knowledgeable in this area.”

But Lindir quickly shakes his head and splutters, “I-I mean no offense! It is only that you are my mentor and... and the only one I speak to... and to speak to someone in such a manner... but you must have some experience, surely, for... if you will forgive me... many consider Lord Glorfindel to be the most desirable elf in Imladris—although I confess I cannot understand why, when Lord Elrond is so dreadfully handsome and the most valiant of warriors, and the kindest of leaders—a-and yet it is well known that Lord Glorfindel is utterly smitten with you...” Erestor lifts a brow at this, and Lindir hurriedly adds, “Please, forgive me if I overstep. I speak only of rumours; I know little.”

Erestor makes a mental note to question the source of those rumours at a later date. For now, he reaches to set his glass on the nightstand, and he says carefully, “Glorfindel is another matter.” By the time he looks around at Lindir, he’s schooled his features back into careful neutrality, sure that Lindir’s seen nothing else. “As for Lord Elrond... he is not the sort to be wooed merely by sex.” Lindir’s face falls, though surely Erestor tells him nothing new. But Erestor continues, “...Yet, if you are desperate to please him as you seem, I would prefer to be your teacher, lest I find you have gone to less reputable sources. I will mentor you... to a certain extent.”

Immediately, a change comes over Lindir’s lovely features. He brightens considerably, ducking his head to eagerly answer, “Thank you! Thank you, Erestor; I will be a good student, I promise you.” Erestor had no doubt of that. 

Sweeping Lindir’s supple body with his eyes, it’s easy to imagine just where this could go. Lindir is lithe and pliant, agreeable and pleasant. There are some in Imladris who think him too uptight, too concerned with his duties, but this is something that only endears him to Erestor, unlike certain other members of staff that require long letters of reprimand. It would be all too easy to reward Lindir for his obedience by laying him down across the very bed he sits on, stripping away what little clothing he wears, and slipping into the tight heat of his innocence. 

Erestor chides himself at even the thought. Such debauchery is beneath him, and he thinks, instead, that he might leave that grand reveal for his lord. Elrond, after all, for all the wars he’s seen and the battles he’s fought, is still a gentle soul, and the sort of ravenous attentions that Erestor might lapse into would never even occur to him. Erestor suggests instead, “Might we start with a kiss?”

Lindir nods happily, though shyly, and he admits, not at all to Erestor’s surprise, “I must confess, I have little experience even in that.” 

Erestor insists, “That is no matter,” and pats the bed beside him, bidding, “Come closer and show me what you do have to work with, and I will endeavor to improve upon it how I may.”

Lindir takes a moment to comply, but when he’s summoned his courage, he does so, shuffling closer, and Erestor reaches an arm around him at the end to pull him snug against Erestor’s legs. Lindir’s breath hitches, his eyes a little wide. He looks at Erestor with the sort of youthful excitement that gives Erestor a pleasant feeling of nostalgia—he hasn’t looked at anyone like that in centuries. He can’t help but think, however different their tastes might be, that Elrond is a lucky man.

Erestor can see that Lindir won’t initiate anything further, so he hooks his finger beneath Lindir’s chin and tilts Lindir up. He brushes their lips together, noting Lindir’s instant gasp, and presses in for a light, chaste kiss that stirs such _hunger_ inside him. It’s been too long since he had anyone. He’s felt _urges_ recently, but they’ve only built, never released. And Erestor must reign himself in again, because Lindir is not the one to unleash it all upon.

He kisses Lindir tenderly, carefully, aware of the fragile beauty he has in his hands. Lindir doesn’t seem to know what to do, only meets him, eyes closed and pulse quick. In a moment of decision, Erestor swipes his tongue along the seam of Lindir’s closed lips, and when Lindir opens to mewl, Erestor thrusts deeper inside.

Almost at once, Lindir melts, draping forward over him and moaning loud, face burning hot and body boneless. Erestor catches it, tightening one arm around Lindir’s waist and threading the other in Lindir’s soft hair. He doesn’t tug as he’d like to, though he dreams of fisting his long fingers in a certain set of silken locks, merely holds Lindir against him. He explores Lindir’s mouth in a slow, languid dance, lapping at each little crevice before prodding Lindir’s tongue to follow. Lindir trembles but listens, learning, and follows his mentor’s lead. Soon they’re kissing properly, intently, though Lindir improvises nothing and Erestor still holds back. When he parts them, he can’t resist a subtle nip to Lindir’s bottom lip, but he doesn’t _bite_ as he’d like to. He doesn’t think Lindir could take it. And Lindir certainly wouldn’t bite him back. Lindir is already breathless. His eyes take a long time to slit open again, and his lips stay moist and parted, face flushed right down his throat. He looks _delectable_.

He tells Erestor in a reverent whisper, “You are truly extraordinary.”

Erestor gives a fond chuckle and answers, “Thank you.” He gives Lindir’s lips another quick kiss, but no more. He can feel his body stirring, and he knows that it won’t do to go any further tonight, not unless he wishes to claim this little flower for his own. 

He glances pointedly at the door and tells Lindir, letting the regret show in his voice, “But it is late, Lindir. And we both have work tomorrow. I think, perhaps, that you should get some rest now, and consider carefully your limits on this. When you come to me next, I do not expect to have to pull your wishes from you yet again.”

Lindir nods, still hazy-eyed and dizzy-looking. Erestor half wonders if he should walk Lindir back to his quarters. But then Erestor chides himself on his own ridiculousness—his kiss is not quite _that_ intoxicating.

When Erestor rises from the bed, Lindir obediently follows. Erestor keeps hold of his lower back to guide him across the starlit chambers. Lindir pauses at the door, looking thickly up at Erestor to murmur, “ _Thank you._ ”

Erestor nods and kisses Lindir’s warm forehead, then pushes his door open. 

Lindir finds his own way out into the corridor. But he passes Glorfindel on the way, giving Erestor pause. Glorfindel immediately halts in his tracks, glancing at Lindir’s quickly retreating form, now swathed in new embarrassment at the witness, and then to where Erestor stands. 

Erestor lifts an eyebrow as though daring Glorfindel to say a word. He smoothly announces, “If you came to collect my letter, I have not yet finished it, and I am afraid what little free time I had tonight has already been taken. You will have to try another night.”

Then he shuts the door to Glorfindel’s stunned face, and he wanders back towards his bed, quite pleased with all these new developments.


End file.
